Periodically, veteran comic-con attendees will give tips to first-time congoers, advising them on ways to get the most out of the con. One popular tip is to carry a hand santizer so you don't pick up germs from the unwashed masses.
This weekend is the NYC Comic Con, and I'm still deciding whether it'll be wise to go, since I'm still recovering from my Ick. If you do see me there, you might pull out the Purel after meeting me.
It seems that every time, at least during winter, that I go see these people*, I return with a bad case of the ick. This year's model: bronchitis.
Well, I think it's bronchitis anyway, in that self-diagnosis sort of way. I have a bad phlegmy cough, and, now suddenly, a fever. The cough gets worse when I'm horizontal, disrupting my slepp, which is why I"m up at 4:49am (and, apparently, why I'm mistyping "sleep" and "I'm"). The fever hit tonight, as I was coming back from refilling my water glass. I shook so badly with the chills that I almost dropped the glass on the floor.
I called in sick for Wednesday, and it appears I'll do the same today. I hate doing that. My company watches our sick time so closely that they'll be on me like genital warts on a whore, even after only two days out, but what can I do?
I've had bronchitis before (officially diagnosed and everything), and it usually clears up in a week or so. Because it's normally viral, antibiotics don't work against it, so I'm not sure a doctor can do much other than to tell me what I know: rest up and stay hydrated.
I don't want to stay in bed all day because as I said before, the cough gets worse when I'm horizontal, but I'll prop up some pillows so I can sit up and read, and I'll alternate between napping and sitting up with a book or the TV.
Sigh.
*The wise wife says we should visit in warmer months anyway, since it's always cold and windy in Indiana during the winter and we're always delayed by weather-related airport snafus. This ick is just another reason she's so smarty.
Jen's V-Day gift to me (mko will be so envious):
Mixed Up, Muddled and Shaken: A Curious History of the American Cocktail
Presented By: Dale DeGroff, David Wondrich
Tuesday, April 18 2006, 6pm to 8pm
The Balance
215 West 28 Street
New York, NY 10001
Dale DeGroff, author of The Craft of the Cocktail, and David Wondrich, Esquire magazine's Drinks Correspondent and author of Killer Cocktails and Esquire Drinks, will escort you through the highways and byways of more than two centuries' worth of cocktail history, as you learn how to make some of the finest examples of the bartender's art. Drinks will include the original "Cock-Tail," the Brandy Smash, the Enchantress, Champagne Cobbler, General Harrison's Egg Nog, and other great classic and original drinks.
Enjoy this hands-on seminar and the wonderful collection of cocktail memorabilia at The Museum of the American Cocktail's new location in New York.
A Westchester man has pleaded guilty in love-triangle slay from 1982.
This creep went to a Kansas Bible college, where he befriended a secretary and her husband. Scumbag and victim played racketball together and attended the same church. Scumbag then began a flirtation with the secretary, bonked her (some reports say he did, some say he didn't; he's a lowlife piece of crap, so he probably did), and then conspired with her to off her husband. And when I say "off," I mean he attacked the husband so viciously with a crowbar, that the victim's skull was crushed and one of his eyeballs popped out of his head.
Then this pillar of society and the crazy cheating wife blamed it all on black men. Niiiiiiiiiiiiice. Wow, Bible-school boy, that's exactly what Jesus would have done!
These Coen-film wannabes wised up and realized that if they went their separate ways, the cops might not suspect them. So they split. She married a dentist in Ohio and had kids. He went off to freakin' Harvard and got an MBA, and now he's a multi-millionnaire living in a three-story, $1.3 million house in Pelham with his wife and kids.
So, he bangs a guy's wife, kills the guy, flees the state, starts a new life, makes millions of dollars, and basically gets away with it for nearly a quarter century. When he does get caught, he cops a plea and could be out in five years to enjoy his millions. And what does this great good citizen tell the Times?
"[W]ith sentencing approaching and with a desire to be granted parole at the earliest opportunity, there is no explanation that we can provide that doesn't carry downside risk."
Spoken like a true douchebag, Markie Mark. You make me wish there really were a place called Hell.
[Links: NYTimes, Kansas City Star, Olathe News]